Pink Lace
by musicalfreak86
Summary: "An object at rest stays at rest until acted upon by an outside force." Two people, happily settled into the same routine. When something changes, it sets something into motion that neither can stop. Hayffie


Note: I got the idea for this fic when my friends dragged me into Victoria's Secret. Looking at all the frilly pink little nothings, I started thinking, 'that looks like something Effie might wear…' And thus this story was born!

This also encompasses the Hayffie Challenge prompt #10: You look better without it anyway, and prompt #27: Don't tempt me princess. =]

* * *

He notices the extra frills at lunch. It's just a hint of pink lace, peeking over the top of the low neckline of her also pink dress. Because the neckline of her dress is where his eyes naturally go anyway, the lace is the first thing he notices about her outfit. After his mind registers the entirely too low neckline of said dress, of course. And he is not the only one noticing. He sees sponsors noticing as well, and while she may laugh and blow it off, it makes his blood boil. They shouldn't be looking at his princess like that. They're not allowed to be looking at his princess like that. (Not that she is his princess anyway...)

But he refrains from saying anything. That's unusual for him, but there is something that's keeping him from saying anything this time. Keeping him from striding over and pulling her off of the dance floor himself. It's not that he hasn't been drinking, which always loosens his tongue anyway, but it's something else. He thinks it may be partially the fact that she is simply not his. (Not that he wants her to be anyway...)

There's something in her eyes that's begging him not to make a fool out of them both here in this room full of people. Not that he would be making any more of a fool of himself. He doesn't worry about that anymore. He thinks he has become immune to feeling foolish. He's just the drunk mentor from District 12, and he has gotten used to that title and everything that comes with it just as much as everyone else has. But he knows that she hasn't. His poor little princess feels every stare, every pair of eyes that swing her way when he acts a fool in a crowd of people. And normally, he wouldn't care about that either. But there is just something in her eyes today...

So he keeps himself in check. Dinner is a painful experience for him. His eyes keep drifting over to that tempting bit of pink lace that he is almost certain does not belong to the dress she is wearing. As dinner ends and everyone is moving into the sitting room to watch recaps of the interviews, he hangs back. She is dawdling on her way into the main sitting room, and while she is doing a pretty good job of pretending to be busy with something, he senses that she is really stalling because she knows he is too. As much as she pretends to be annoyed with him, and as much as he enjoys teasing her, he has the strong feeling that it's only a matter of time before one of them gives in and the other follows close after. He doesn't know when this realization hit him. But he is very aware that over the past few Games his attraction to her has been growing.

He moves around so he is standing close next to her, and he can feel her tense up when he casually slips his arm around her shoulders. (And the first move has been made...)

"What do you want?" she asks, effectively making her voice sound as annoyed and uncaring as usual. But he can feel from the way her muscles have all tensed up that this is only a front. He smirks to himself as he allows his hand to slip slowly down the front of her shoulders until he tugs at that piece of lace that has been driving him crazy all day, though he won't admit it even to himself.

"What's this, Princess?" he asks, feeling triumphant when he sees her blush. It's not a dainty little blush either, one of those that graces only the cheeks and would be expected from someone like her. Her entire face and neck have turned red, and he imagines he can feel the heat suddenly rising off of her, though he thinks that is probably only his mind playing tricks on him.

She slaps his hand away and spins to face him. He starts to laugh, knowing that he has gotten to her, but stops abruptly when he sees how close their faces are. Wearing those ridiculous heels, she is almost as tall as him, though still not quite, and their noses almost brush in their proximity. She is still red as a tomato, but the expression on her face does not suggest someone who has just been embarrassed. Quite the contrary, she wears the look of someone who has just gained the upper hand.

"Wouldn't you like to find out?" she asks, and her voice has dropped to a husky whisper, so different from the usual high pitched tones she loves to use. She makes quite the show of tucking the lace back into her dress, right under his nose.

"Don't tempt me, Princess," he replies, his hands straying towards the buttons on the front of her dress. He is not one to tolerate having anything hidden from him. But she slaps his hands away again.

"Manners," she says with a smirk. Before he can say anything in return, she turns him around and shoves him towards the main viewing room where everyone else has settled in to watch the interviews and are probably wondering what is taking the mentor and escort so long.

But now he begins to realize that he has begun something that he does not know how to stop. And he is not entirely sure he wants to stop it. When they enter the viewing room, she sits to close to him on the sofa that he can smell her perfume and feel her body heat against his arm. He briefly wonders how on earth the others in the room are missing this, before deciding that two can play this game. He wonders what on earth he has gotten himself into. They are supposed to hate each other; it's just the natural order of things. But here they are playing this game of temptations, and he wonders who will come out on top. And tries to ignore the suggestiveness of that thought.

As the interviews play on the screen, they begin an almost absurd game. He stretches and puts an arm across the back of the sofa behind her where he can gently stroke the back of her neck and hair when he is certain everyone else is focused on the television. She retaliates by casually resting a hand on his thigh, her eyes on the television screen the entire time. Back and forth they go, until by the time the interviews are over and everyone is starting to get up and tell each other goodnight, he is amazed that the entire room can't feel the heat they must be giving off.

She delivers the final blow before wishing the others goodnight. She stretches long and hard, her back arching off of the sofa and her head tilting back so he can see the entire expanse of her pearly white neck. Every muscle in her body tenses and she lets out a soft groan of satisfaction.

Then she is gone. She has wished everyone goodnight, determinedly avoiding his eyes, and headed up to her own room. He notices that the blush is back as he watches her retreating figure, and wonders how on earth the others have missed their antics of the evening. He sits on the sofa for a few moments after everyone else is gone, feeling hot and bothered and more than a little confused, before heading toward the hallway that leads to the individual quarters.

He doesn't know if he is stupid or horny or drunk, or maybe a combination of the three. But he finds himself standing outside of her bedroom door, fist poised to knock, not sure if he should knock or just head to his own room and take care of this built up tension on his own.

He has had a certain amount of attraction for the pink woman for several years now, but it hasn't been this strong until tonight. He remembers that pink lace with a jolt and raises his hand again, almost knocking, but not quite. They have a perfect chemistry of hate between them, and though he doesn't want to admit it, he is a little afraid that he will ruin it. These feelings are exciting, something that he hasn't felt in a very long time. But the mutual dislike that they have for one another is strangely comfortable, and he thinks that if he ruined it he may just miss it more than these new feelings.

He is about to make a final decision when the doorknob turns and he is suddenly run into by a very pink escort.

"Oh!" she exclaims, and her voice is back to its normal tones. She realizes who she has run into and her face returns to that same color of red he appreciated so in the dining room. He must have taken longer than he thought to make a decision regarding the rest of his evening, because she has cleaned her face of all traces of makeup, though that ridiculous wig still sits on top of her head. He briefly registers that he has never seen her void of all makeup, and that he much prefers her this way. "I-I just forgot to—" He cuts her off suddenly by doing the first thing that comes to his mind; he kisses her.

She freezes for a moment, stiff in his arms, before relaxing and responding to his rash decision. Then he is backing her up into her room, before shutting the door and spinning her around to press her back up against it. She lets out a tiny "oof" at the impact, and the sound almost makes him want to laugh. Except she is making new sounds now, and all thoughts of laughing are driven from his mind. He pulls back with some difficulty and looks at her face. She shows no signs of wanting him to stop; her eyes are closed and her lips parted. She registers the lack of his warmth and contact and opens her eyes to look at him. He reaches for the buttons on her dress, mirroring his actions from earlier, intending to test her to see if this is really what she wants. But he changes his mind halfway and reaches for her wig instead. If she were going to tell him to stop, it would be because of the wig for sure.

But instead, her hands join his and help him remove it, and her dress follows moments later. Soon, she is standing there in her natural state, wearing nothing but some sort of pink lingerie. For some reason, he would not have pegged her for lingerie, but as he takes in the pink and lace, he realizes that it couldn't be more Effie, and this turns him on more than anything that has happened so far.

She does not look half as confident as she did in the dining room, and the sight amuses him. He is not amused by her appearance rather than her expression, but he knows that he could never laugh at her in this vulnerable state. She can take teasing when she is safely hidden behind all of her makeup and frills, but not standing here completely natural and half naked. He knows how much she puts into her appearance, and seeing her like this makes him realize how little confidence in herself she must actually have. She stands in the middle of her bedroom floor, arms crossed over her chest, eyes cast slightly downward, obviously painfully aware of him observing her.

He crosses over to her and kisses her again, this time softer than last. His hand returns once more to the pink lace on her chest, but this time he makes sure that there is much more contact between his hand and her skin. He feels he has less of a chance of being slapped in this situation than in the middle of the dining room.

"Were you planning this all day?" he asks, allowing his hand to wander across the lace covering her chest. Her eyes flutter shut, and she has to concentrate to reply.

"Of course not," she replies, eyes still shut, leaning into his touch.

"So you just got up this morning and decided to throw this on," he says, his fingers trailing down her side to slip into the waistband of the matching pink panties. She shivers and opens her eyes.

"It goes with the dress," she says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 'Of course,' he has to remember. 'This is the Capitol.' Things just seem to work differently here. He shakes the comment off and scoops her up. She gasps and he carries her over to the bed.

"As much as I like it on you," he says, slipping the tiny straps off over her shoulders, "I think you look better without it." He kisses her again before removing the flimsy thing entirely and casting it off on the floor.

* * *

When he wakes up the next morning, he is disoriented. For starters, he can't figure out why he feels so rested. He hasn't felt this good after a night's sleep in a long time, probably because he hasn't gotten a full night's sleep in a long time. But something about the way he feels tells him that his sleep was not disturbed by nightmares like it usually is.

It also takes him a moment to realize that there is a warm sleeping body next to him, all curled up around him and the covers in a big bunchy mess, and he is suddenly very grateful that he didn't drink as much as usual last night. Because when he looks at the woman next to him, all pale skin and tousled blonde hair, he has never been happier that he could remember what he did the night before.


End file.
